Training montage
I left the Fourth Division barracks soon after Unohana's startling revelation.
I walked quickly, and even cast a few suspicious glances over my shoulder as I hurried, but fortunately no bloodthirsty Captains were stalking me. Yet.
Sure, I was strong. Sure, I wanted to test myself in combat. But against a Captain? Everything I'd heard, and everything I'd read in the last few weeks told me that Captains were on a different level entirely. I'd made the wager to become a captain with Renji without knowing anything about them, and while I was still committed to my goal, I had no illusions that it would be easy or quick anymore.
Particularly if I was killed by psycho-Captain in my very first month of life in Soul Society.
Even though it was almost five o' clock on a Sunday, I made a beeline for the great Shinigami Academy library, and made my way to the sections reserved for physical training manuals. There was hundreds of methods for training every type of weapon user imaginable, and I started out with the intention to find something to do with one-handed, rapier-type swords. But then I got side-tracked, my attention drawn to a smaller shelf simply labelled, enticingly, "Survival".
It was exactly what I needed.
But a theoretical background was only useful up to an extent.
"Excuse me," I approached the librarian politely, carrying basically the entire "survival" section balanced on one arm. It was taller than my head. One plus of having stupid amounts of reiatsu was lifting heavy shit easily.
She eyed the pile with some misgivings. "Yes?"
"Umm... Is there a training ground near the library?"
"No... Well," she corrected, "Yes, but the nearest one has to be specially reserved. It's usually kept for the advanced classes."
"Oh, that's okay," I said in relief, "I'm in an advanced class already."
She blinked. "Aren't you a new student?"
"Yes." I wondered if she wasn't a bit slow. It would also explain the general disorganized state of the library. "And I'm in the advanced class." I raised my eyebrows. "So... Do I need to sign something?"
She pointed at my stack. "Choose six, and leave the rest," she ordered.
I scowled, but acquiesced, picking out the best volumes.
"There's a gatehouse at the entrance to the grounds. If they aren't occupied, you can sign in there and train as long as you wish."
True to her word, the advanced class training grounds were not far at all. Unfortunately they were occupied, but the gatekeeper assured me the session booked would end soon, so I sat down on a bench next to the imposing gates and waited, humming a tune under my breath.
As the sky faded from twilight grey to the dark of night, a group of about eightstudents exited the grounds, casting glances at me curiously. I recognized a couple of them from my advanced zanjutsu class, but they ignored my friendly wave. I felt a pang of longing to have trained with them; I knew the only true way of gaining experience in swordsmanship was through actual combat. But for now, at least, the special training I had chosen did not require partners.
Undeterred by their cold glances, I signed in my single name (the full version) on a line under the various large groups who'd trained before me. From the skeptical look the gatekeeper gave me, it was rare for one person to book the entire large field. But I had no choice. Drastic times called for drastic measures.
I'd come prepared. Many of my "survival" books were tailored specifically for harsh one-person training regimens. Some exercises advised a more experienced person to supervise, but I figured I'd just improvise around that.
Walking out into the dark training field, I looked curiously around. It was about the size of a school soccer field, roughly rectangular in shape, with a thick band of tall trees ringing the perimeter. Seeing as it was a "special" training grounds, I assumed it was to provide anonymity even in the center of Seireitei. After all, a large part of a shinigami's success was based off of surprising an opponent with your unique abilities. The more secret they were, the better.
The moon was bright, and my eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Along one side of the field was a long row of unevenly-spaced cut logs, some barely a foot high, others taller than my head. The tall ones were also used as practice for hand-to-hand combat, as I could discern some targets for palm and heel strikes painted on the smooth wood.
As I walked closer to inspect them, a plan began to take shape in my mind...
Sunday night had seen me mostly planning and coming up with some strategies for what to do in an ambush, so I could train accordingly. A fight against a Captain was not one I could win, and so I didn't bother training drills of blocking or striking with my sword.
Monday dawned and I was in a cheerful mood when I went to class, happy with my plan to devote the afternoons of the next week to some useful training.
But then, just before lunch, I was sitting in a Kido theory class that I was barely listening to, when suddenly the double doors of the classroom flew open, bouncing off the walls with a heavy crash.
The instructor interrupted her own monologue with a high-pitched shriek as a man skidded in with a drawn sword in hand.
"MITSOMIYA FARAENDYS REDENDRA!" Roared the massive dude. He had crazy hair that jingled with small bells. On his shoulder swung a giggling pink-haired girl. "LET'S FIGHT!" He scanned the room eagerly, his spiritual pressure a tangible weight on the air.
No one answered - they couldn't breathe from all the killing intent that was pouring out of him - but somehow after a moment my own reiatsu seemed to rise in response and I could move.
"Thanks for remembering my name!" I called back, (feeling oddly touched that he'd taken the time to actually learn it) as I grabbed my books and shoved them into my bag.
"It's you, eh?!" He grinned, showing a large array of teeth. "You're not effected by this much reiatsu? That's fucking fantastic!" He gave a wild laugh, which broke off abruptly as he caught sight of what I was doing. "Ahahahaa-? Oi!"
"My apologies, Zaraki Kenpachi," I called over my shoulder as I balanced on the window sill, tensed to jump. "I need a little more time!"
"Oi, get back in her-!"
The rest of his words were drowned out by the rush of wind as I dropped.
We were on the fourth floor.
I left a sizable dent in the tiles below, and beat a hasty retreat.
After that encounter, the danger I was in hit me quite hard, and I spent every waking moment of the next three days training or thinking about training. During my breaks I consumed insane amounts of food, and barely slept the rest of the time. I found that while I had a problem with waking up, it could be solved if I simply never went to sleep. By running on adrenaline, sugar and coffee, I could remain reasonably focused. Every time I felt myself flagging, I could just reach inside myself and draw forth more reiatsu, until it filled me to the brim again with buzzing energy. And each time I felt like I was getting a little closer to the source of my power. The Voice didn't speak, but sometimes I thought I heard him, distantly, a murmur.
My training was... creative.
According to a very interesting treatise by a little-known, low-ranking shinigami instructor, it was healthy to approach each fight with the intention to win, but also to acknowledge the very real possibility that you're catastrophically out-classed... in all ways.
(Some of his advice had a slightly bitter tone to it, and I wondered if he hadn't endured many "catastrophic" losses before he wrote the book.)
In which case, he advised, your only chance is to keep four principles in mind.
One, Awareness. Good observation will not only prevent ambushes and "one-shot kills", but also help you find the strong and weak points of your opponent. Every opponent has at least one major weakness, if you have the wit to find it.
Two, Evasion. The easiest way to ensure survival is simply to not be hit... pretty straight-forward.
Three, Prediction. Knowledge of your opponent is essential, for obvious reasons. But even if you know nothing about them, you could still form some kind of strategy based off of how they act, or even their expectations of you. For example, an over-confident enemy can be expected to attack recklessly, providing an opportunity for you to counter.
And the last principle, Determination. The hardest part about fighting an unfair fight, the author warned, is not giving in to despair or an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Because, he wrote bracingly, in an unfair fight, to survive is to win.
I wasn't sure at this point to feel reassured or start hyper-ventilating.
With these tenets in mind I learnt to sense reiatsu and suppress my own (Awareness), always on the look out for Kenpachi. Thankfully he never figured out where the training grounds were. Also, his reiatsu was so massive it was like a sun, burning all others around him into insignificance. Avoiding him while getting food was easy. Suppressing my own power was harder, but most of the time it behaved. Indeed, my largest problem was drawing it out.
So after spending some time in a meditative state controlling my spiritual energy, I could move onto Evasion. And that's where things got tricky.
I started by reading up all the theory on flash steps - something most students in my agility classes had already mastered. It was a bit like riding a bike; it became second nature once you were used to it, but learning was awkward and slow. The most important thing was to build up momentum and keep it going, and this required a steady stream of reiatsu to be pumped to my legs and feet. Too much and I'd lose control, too little and I wouldn't go anywhere. Once I'd managed two meters on flat ground, I graduated to the tall logs, starting on one and trying to step across them from one end of the field to the other, using each log as a stepping stone. The amount of times I fell was depressing, but by the end of Monday night I did feel like I'd made progress.
It was on Tuesday that shit got serious.
Following the instructions in one of my books, I went to the academy storerooms and requested a very specific type of training mannequin.
I was informed that they'd been discontinued, due to their unstable nature, but I kept arguing until an irate clerk called someone at the Science and Technology Division to check if they had any alternative products.
He returned from the back office with a "I-should-have-seen-this-coming" expression, and handed over some papers to me. "You can take them," he explained reluctantly, "On the condition that you fill out and return this questionnaire about anything... unexpected that occurs when you use them." He pointed to a paragraph on the page, "Including, but not limited to, explosions, conflagrations, spontaneous combustion, loss of limbs, organ damage, organ failure, burns, abrasions... Are you sure you still want them?"
I shrugged and accepted the form. The more dangerous the better; it was survival training.
And so late Tuesday morning saw me dragging a large net behind me with a determined expression. Inside were six, vaguely-humanoid-shaped, white mannequins made of a special reiatsu-absorbing material. It had been developed by the Science and Technology Division some years ago to help shinigamis train. After all, a normal straw mannequin wouldn't last very long.
According to the instructions, it would absorb the energy of your attack and reflect a portion of it back, so that the harder you hit, the harder you would be hit back. The danger came in when the mannequins were over-taxed; they could only absorb so much. Too much, and I figured that was when "combustion" became involved.
Eager to get started, I rigged up the mannequins by tying them to the logs, at different heights and angles. Now, I could work on my speed and flash-steps, as well as striking at the mannequins. And hopefully not exploding.
The first run went quite well. After warming up, I started on top of the first log and balanced lightly on one foot, swaying slightly in the cool breeze. Then, I launched myself forward into the air.
One, two, three... I lightly touched the top of each log with precision, though a little slower than I would have liked. Then I continued, and as I passed the mannequins I would flash-step down, throw a punch or a kick, then leap up and away. It felt like hitting a marshmallow, and I was able to reach each target without breaking too much of a sweat.
The second time was different. I tried to speed it up a little, and ended up falling from the fifth log. The mannequins this time had changed too, and felt like hitting muscle; soft, but less yielding.
The third time the mannequins were rock-solid, and seemed to have expanded a little. I felt the corresponding dip in my power as it sucked away my strength with each blow. But I had a bottomless reservoir inside me and recklessly pumped more out.
A fourth time, then a fifth, sixth, seventh...
At this point I was well and truly winded, limbs shaking from the exertion, but I also felt a strange exhilaration. I could feel it working; each time I could hit harder and move faster, sinking into a state of heightened awareness and instinctive reaction.
On the eighth round, I swung a powerful roundhouse-kick at the first mannequin, and discovered just why it had been discontinued.
The backlash from the energy compounded with all the energy I'd fed into it up until that point exploded outward, hitting me with a concussive wave that blew me backwards like a rag doll. I went end-over-end several times, ears ringing, until I plowed into the grass half-way across the field and came to a stop.
After a moment, I raised my head and blinked heavily a few times. My body felt battered and a stinging, crackling energy dissipated slowly from my abused muscles. Something hot was running down my face, and when I pawed at it my hand came away bright red with blood. I'd broken my nose. From tentative prodding I discovered it wasn't out of place, at least, and I heaved myself back to my feet.
I should have felt worse for wear.
I should have wanted to get myself checked out for a concussion.
But instead a laugh came bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and I grinned a wide and bloody grin, barely noticing that the motion made my lip split and added to the blood dripping down, wetting the grass at my feet.
Like craving the rush from flinging yourself out a plane with a flimsy parachute, all I wanted was to do it again...
By using a flash-step perhaps I could avoid the backlash... I'd just have to go faster. Hit harder.
Get stronger.
And it wasn't even lunch-time yet.
Two nights later...
"Again?!"
The booming voice of the largest student rang out in disbelief as he squinted at the ridiculously long name written in loopy, flowing letters in the book.
He paged back. She'd trained twice on Monday, and then Tuesday was filled with her name - through day and night, it seemed, with short breaks for meals. Hardly anyone else had a chance to sign in at all. He turned back to the current day's record and scowled.
Wednesday
01:30-3:00 Mitsomiya Faraendys Redendra
05:00-10:00 Mitsomiya Faraendys Redendra
10:00-11:00 Tana, Jo-Jo & friends.
11:00-13:00 Mitsomiya Faraendys Redendra
13:30-16:00 Mitsomiya Faraendys Redendra
16:00-17:30 Retsu, Hanaya, Obi, Misto, Natsu, Sakura
17:30-19:00 Mitsomiya Faraendys Redendra
Now, it was just past ten o'clock at night, and this girl had booked it again for two hours?!
"When does she sleep?" asked his friend in an awed voice. "I thought it was weird she was skipping all our classes."
The big student ground his teeth. This was the third day they'd come to the training fields and been turned away - and for what? Just what kind of training could be done for so long, alone? "I don't know what this bitch thinks she's doing," he growled, "But we're going to find out."
And with that said, he strode through the gates purposefully, ignoring the gatekeeper's feeble protests.
His seven burly friends grinned in savage anticipation of the coming confrontation, and followed.
Author's note:
Yes, she learns flash steps in like two days. Keep in mind, Ichigo mastered flash steps after training with Uruhara, and he's supposed to have crap control over his reiatsu. So I figured it's not too fast for Raen.
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